


cotton

by sprinkleofsunshine



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Connor is trying his best, Evan is an anxious boi, F/M, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Panic Attacks, kind of??, takes place after ch.3 of the novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkleofsunshine/pseuds/sprinkleofsunshine
Summary: a letter that was never meant to be seen, now held in the hands of the most potentially dangerous person at school.it's safe to admit evan is scared. but he has to get that letter back. no matter what.





	cotton

**Author's Note:**

> "my letter is still out there. with him. all of the emotions i'd been bottling up, all of those feelings i finally poured out of me, just like dr. sherman had wanted- all of that, held in the hands of connor murphy.... i have no idea what he might do with it, or who he might show, but one thing is clear to me.
> 
> zoe murphy can never see that letter."
> 
> ***
> 
> here we are!! my first post on ao3. i've never written anything like this before, so hopefully it isn't the worst thing. 
> 
> enjoy!!

i watch as he storms off. my letter in his hands. my lips force out a weak "i'm sorry," but it's far too quiet for him to notice.

i feel the anxiety starting to bubble up inside me. it forces itself up, through my lungs, my throat, my veins. my mouth feels dry. like budding cotton plants are weaving their way through my system, sucking the moisture from my lips, poisoning the oxygen i breathe.

 _seize the day._ that's what mom had said, right? or at least, what her horoscope told her to say. i'd say i've done enough day-seizing. i mean, i did talk to alana. and jared. and connor, technically... and zoe murphy...

that's good, right?

i mean, it definitely counts for something...

but my letter is still out there. with him. all of the emotions i'd been bottling up, all of those feelings i finally poured out of me, just like dr. sherman had wanted- all of that, held in the hands of connor- _connor murphy_ , of all people! i can't just throw all that away, can i? i have no idea what he might do with it, or who he might show, but one thing is clear to me.

zoe murphy can never see that letter.

i have to get it back. i _have_ to. the consequences of the near future and beyond are buzzing in my head, like gnats, louder and louder. i have to get it back.

i guess a little more _seize the day_ can't hurt.

  
•••

  
i've survived two class periods without my letter. no blowups. no judgmental stares. no megaphones screaming my letter from the rooftop.

when the bell chimes to dismiss us from our class, i see a familiar hoodie ducking through the door. quiet. unnoticed by all.

 _connor_.

i have to get to him. i have to explain myself and get that letter back.

before i can stop, i find myself falling in step behind connor. he walks fast. shoulders slouched, head ducked. like he's afraid the world will come crumbling on top of him under the slightest pressure. i guess, in a way, it has.

because of me.

i can't get our encounter in the computer lab out of my mind. his face after he read my letter...

it had never occurred to me that, maybe, connor murphy was capable of more than just anger. i remember all of the stories from when we were younger- the crying, the outbursts, _the printer_... i never gave any of it a second thought. but there was a look behind his eyes when he read the letter, a look i recognized. he was hurt.

he walks out of the building. out the gates, to the parking lot. he's not going to class. _he's leaving_.

i don't know why i'm still following him. this is wrong! i can't just skip school, especially not on the first day. maybe that's connor's thing, but not mine. i'm done seizing the day.

  
i turn on my heel, my shoe making an unsettling squeak. ignoring the noise, i start to head back. i stare at my feet, worn sneakers scuffing at the ground weakly. i'm so focused on what i'm not doing, i forget to think about what i am doing, and then-

the gate. i run into the gate.

my cast slings forward, an irritating clatter filling the air as plaster meets metal. it rings out, fading slowly, until there's nothing but quiet. i wince, freezing up. _what now?_

connor's voice breaks the silence. "were you... following me?"

damn.

i turn. his back is facing me, like before, but he isn't moving anymore. his once softened posture is now rigid- shoulders tense, hands clenched in fists.

"no- i mean, well, yes, but i-"

he turns around. slow. “you were fucking following me."

the words are harsh, but the delivery isn’t. he doesn’t sound mad. he’s calm, despite the red-hot panic alarms sounding in my head.

"i didn't mean to-"

connor laughs. it's far from joyful. i stand frozen, holding my cast close to my body. afraid to move. the air around us is filled with static.

"didn't mean to? you didn't mean to?"

"no, i-"

"you just followed me out here on accident? just because?"

i look around. there's no one out here- just us two. the parking lot is littered with cars. i recognize zoe's blue volvo halfway across the lot. connor looks ready to head in the opposite direction.

that uncomfortable silence fills my head again. i wish i could make it stop. i wish my helpless stammering meant anything, but it doesn't.

"that’s- that’s not what i meant-”

"what did you mean?”

"i- i just wanted-"

"wanted what? wanted to embarrass me some more? to get more proof of what a freak i am, so you can go report it to that asshole friend of yours? think he’ll get a kick out of it?"

"i don't have-"

"gonna tell everyone i'm just some fucking time bomb, ready to explode? ‘cause connor’s such a fucking freak, right? you really think-"

he's loud now. in my face, practically screaming. i feel numb. i know it stings, somewhere deep down, and maybe i'll overthink that feeling later and freak myself out again. but for now? nothing.

i can't help myself. "stop yelling at me!"

connor blinks, clearly shocked. he closes his eyes. takes a deep breath. when he opens them, they look vacant. no more hurt. no more undetectable emotion. just blank canvases, staring back at me.

he takes a step forward. i close my eyes, flinching. automatically expecting the worst, i brace myself.

but the impact never comes.

i open my eyes again. he takes another step closer, officially too close for comfort. our noses are almost touching. i can feel every exhale. i feel suffocated, but i can't will myself to move.

something flashes across his face. yet another emotion i can't pin down. fear, maybe. anger? stare at his vacant eyes, praying for an outlet to make my escape.

  
that's when something more prominent pops into my mind...

 _his eyes are blue_.

i'd noticed that before, but i’d never really thought about it. never really had to. for years, connor had always been just a storybook antagonist, stalking the halls. i hadn’t given connor murphy a second glance, let alone his eyes. but there they are, looking at me, bright blue. pale irises freckled with deep navy. traces of red dance along the outer edges- the remnants of too many sleepless nights, or maybe the pot he was so famously rumored to smoke.

side note- did connor really smoke weed? i'd never been exposed to drugs or anything before, so i wasn't sure what to keep an eye out for. even if i had known, i was never close enough to tell. he didn't act high, whatever that looked like. sure, he was brittle and snappish and generally off-putting. but, despite the unpredictability of his actions, there was also a sense of comfort in knowing his attitude never faltered. he wasn't confusing or bipolar. he was just connor.

connor. the lonely kid. the stoner. the quiet kid in the back of the room, hoodie pulled up, earbuds in. connor, with the most desperate blue eyes i'd ever seen. connor, whose body language screams hostility and anger, but whose eyes give way to empty nothingness.

 _stop_.

what am i doing?

i came out with the intention of getting my letter back. seizing the day. instead, i stand paralyzed, fantasizing about connor's eyes as they stare back at my own.

i open my mouth to say something, anything, but i can't. i catch on to the familiar feeling of cotton balls swelling in my throat.

connor must sense this, because he's the one to break the silence again.

"why are you here, evan?"

his words hit weak. he crumbles with every syllable. the once-intimidating façade has diminished, quickly being replaced with the emptiness his eyes hold.

i don't know what to say. so instead, i do what i do best.

"i'm sorry."

his expression falters again. this one i know- it's confusion. ( _i get that one a lot._ )

"sorry?"

"i'm sorry for laughing. earlier. at lunch. and i'm sorry about what happened in the computer lab."

"don't tell me you're sorry."

"i'm sorry you had to see my letter. and i'm sorry for following you out here. i never meant for any of this to happen. i'm-"

"don't lie to me,” he’s raising his voice again. “you're sorry? everyone's sorry, everyone's always so fucking sorry-“

"i need my letter back."

i say this louder than i mean to. he's not yelling. neither am i. but the bitterness is clear in his tone, and the desperate pleading is clear in mine.

connor blinks. "you what?"

"my letter. you took it. i need it back."

"why? are you gonna show it to people? tell them i flipped out on you?"

i sigh. "for god's sake, connor, would you just listen to me?" i take a step back. my cast smacks against the gate again, and i wince.

he's silent again. i squeeze my eyes shut, taking a breath. here goes nothing.

"i wrote that letter."

connor laughs dryly. "yeah? no shit."

"i wrote that letter, and i need it back. because it's a thing. i mean, it's a thing i do. write letters. to... to myself. which, i know it sounds crazy, but i promise, i do it for a reason. and so, yeah, i need it back. for this thing. yeah."

he blinks at me expectantly. but the cotton in my mouth returns. i don't know what else to say.

after an agonizing beat of silence, connor sighs. "well?"

"...well?"

"you said you did it for a reason." he waits another beat. i say nothing. "i'm waiting?"

i clear my throat. _damn cotton_. "you want me to-"

he blinks again. of course he wants an explanation. expecting, not demanding. obviously.

i'm an idiot.

my mouth moves before my brain can even process it- yet another evan hansen specialty, acting without thinking.

“therapy,” i stammer weakly. when i’m met with another unreadable stare, i realize i have no choice but to continue. “it’s a therapy thing. the letters, i mean. i write them for myself. like a mini pep talk or something. _dear evan hansen, today’s gonna be a good day, and here’s why._ like that. dr. sherman thinks they’ll help me build my confidence…”

and i’m rambling. i find myself trailing off. it feels like i’m on a treadmill- running and running and running but getting nowhere.

connor pulls my note out of his canvas bag, unfolding it carefully. rereading the words no one was meant to see.

“build your confidence?”

“yeah, dr. sherman think’s it’ll… yeah.”

his lips quirk up. “this doesn’t seem too confident.”

he’s smiling weakly, down at my letter. ironic, almost, considering the tension around us is anything but happy. i consider attempting a smile myself, but decide against it. the last time i smiled at connor, i was knocked down. ( _both in a metaphorical and literal sense. again, ironic!_ )

all i manage in reply is a weak “yeah…”

i watch as he skims over the words again. he’s whispering each word to himself. he repeats a section, louder this time, and i tense up immediately.

“because there’s zoe… because there’s zoe, and all my hope is pinned on zoe, who i don’t know and who doesn’t know me- _because there’s zoe?_ ”

_oh god. ohgodohgodohgod._

“why did you write this?”

_my brain is screaming at me to run, but i can’t move._

“why did you write this about my sister?”

_any second now…_

“evan-”

"i'm sorry-" i attempt.

he snaps. "stop saying you're sorry."

"i-"

"why did you write about zoe?"

the cotton starts coming up my throat. i cough. i feel weak. sick. my cast hits the damn gate a third time as i grasp for purchase against the cool metal, afraid i'll collapse.

  
i can't breathe. why can't i breathe?

connor's expression softens. he takes a small step back. "woah, evan..."

"i'm sorry-" i'm gasping now. it's hard to breathe. "i'm so sorry-"

"holy shit... are you _crying_?"

am i? probably. all i can focus on is the growing pressure in my lungs, the tightening in my throat. how long have we been out here?

connor rocks back and forth on his heels. "hey..." when he speaks, his voice is soft. far from what it was earlier.

i blink. wait for the vines to crawl back down my throat. hope for air.

“hey,” connor says again, “evan, chill.” his eyes meet mine. the indecipherable blue irises have filled with gentle concern. connor grips at the strap of his canvas bag unsteadily, crumpling the letter a little.

i take a shaky breath, clearing my mind a little. “i just want my letter…” my voice comes out just as small as i’m feeling.

he hesitates. “y’know what? forget the zoe thing. what did you mean by this?”

“…excuse me?”

“this entire letter. what’s it mean?”

"i- i told you. it's for therapy. dr. sherman says-"

"no, no, yeah, i got that." his thumb flicks over one of the corners of the letter, worrying at the newly formed creases. "but _why?_ "

i can’t even answer that for myself.

“i mean, there’s gotta be a reason you wrote these words in particular. you said they were supposed to be pep talks, right? well, buddy, this isn’t what i’d call peppy…”

i glance down at my cast. i think about why it’s there. what it means.  _what i did_. my free arm is clutching the plaster too tightly, leaving checkered indents on my fingertips. connor’s gaze moves down to my arm as well.

it feels like an eternity passes before he speaks again, but it's probably only a minute or two.

“here,” he says softly. he holds out his hand, offering my letter back.

i take it, quickly drawing it to my chest. it’s still hard to breathe, but somewhere deep inside, i’m grateful.

he glances back down at my cast. at his signature.

"...no one else has signed yet?"

i shake my head. 

"do you want them to?"

another head shake. no. i'd rather disappear than ask another person to sign.

"i was told having other students sign my cast would help me " _seize the day_ ," or something."

"you don't seem like the kind of person to seize the day."

"that's probably 'cause i'm not."

connor laughs. it's not the bitter smirk or dry dismissal from earlier. it's a genuine laugh- quiet, a bit reserved, but genuine. his eyes shine with understanding. 

the bell sounds from above us. i jump.

shit. i just skipped class.

connor's smile diminishes slowly, but his eyes still hold that faint glimmer of hope. "i'll, um... i'll see you around, okay, evan?"

i nod, turning back toward the school. hoping i can survive.

as i slip past the gate, a voice calls back at me.

"evan?"

i turn back. connor is gripping the strap of his canvas bag, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"you wanna get out of here?"

i feel myself starting to smile. connor might still be a little bit terrifying. but he's still talking to me. after everything i put him through today, he's still talking to me.

it's not friendship, but it's something. it's a start.

"yeah. i'd like that a lot."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


End file.
